


Poison

by HopeCoppice



Series: Notches [3]
Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Backstory, History, Hypnotism, M/M, Murder, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertrand's task is not as straightforward as he'd hoped.<br/>Chronologically speaking, this is the Fifth Notch.<br/>TRIGGER WARNING, SEE TAGS<br/>(Post order 2/7)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison

“Another imposter. Do you know how far I’ve travelled for this disappointment?” Bertrand pulled out his stake, finger running over the four notches representing the families he’d had to execute up to this point. He was about to strike when Iosif caught his eye. Suddenly Bertrand felt his desire to hurt the twenty year old draining away, and struggled to hold onto that sense of focus on his duty. It was no good. He could feel the energy leaving him.

“You’re not going to hurt me or my family, Bertrand. Now, come, let’s put all this unpleasantness behind us.” Bertrand tucked his stake obediently inside his jacket and trailed after the Megalos heir as they returned to the dining room. Throughout the meal, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else he was supposed to be doing. Iosif kept shooting smug glances in his direction, a cruel smirk on his face. Bertrand thought he should probably be worried about that, but he found himself smiling back. The boy’s parents seemed to approve of this, although he couldn’t understand why they’d care how happy he or the Chosen One looked.

After dinner, he followed Iosif into the grounds as he began his usual nightly prowl around the perimeter of the family’s land. Tonight, unlike every other night, Iosif made straight for the little copse of trees that marked their territory’s southern boundary, Bertrand trailing behind. Somehow it didn’t surprise him when the younger vampire grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him towards him.  
“Do you want me, Bertrand?” Iosif’s voice was harsh, urgent. Bertrand’s mind whirled; he couldn’t think, couldn’t form an answer. There was a little voice in his head screaming at him to say yes, to lean in, to give the boy what he must, surely, be fishing for.  But something primal, instinctive inside him was warning him off, assuring him that only danger lay in that direction.

As it happened, he didn’t have to make a decision; Iosif took the initiative and pushed him up against a tree, kissing him roughly before beginning to remove the older vampire’s shirt. Bertrand didn’t resist; somehow he couldn’t find the strength to object. Iosif wasn’t particularly attractive – at least, he hadn’t thought so yesterday – but he wasn’t ugly, and he was no more repulsive in terms of personality than any other vampire. Bertrand could do worse, he knew. Besides, despite the insistent feeling that he needed to get away, the voice calling him towards Iosif was louder, stronger. It was in control.

He felt Iosif’s hand close around his wrist, and looked down. The boy was pulling his hand away from the tree and towards his own breeches, resting Bertrand’s fingers at the hem of his shirt before letting go and returning his attentions to the older vampire. Bertrand felt a hand slip inside his trousers, trying to get him aroused. Somehow it felt wrong, and even as his body responded his mind rebelled. _What are you doing?_

Iosif smirked at him again, that same cruel smirk from dinner, and Bertrand averted his eyes from the sight, focusing instead on his discarded jacket on the ground nearby.  
“I’m so lucky to have such an obedient pet,” the Chosen One – no, not the Chosen One, Bertrand remembered, so why had he thought that he was? – hissed into his ear. “Why don’t you make me scream, Bertrand?”

The invitation was seductive in tone, but it was also an order; Bertrand dropped to his knees, hand still resting where Iosif had put it, and the younger vampire chuckled triumphantly. Kneeling in the grass, Bertrand couldn’t stop himself from running his hand down a little, eyes never leaving Iosif’s as the boy moaned. The Greek’s eyes closed for a split-second and it was all Bertrand needed, bringing his other hand up. Iosif saw the stake the older vampire had pulled from his jacket too late, and all he could do was indeed scream before he crumbled into dust. The last lingering remains of the hypnosis fell away and Bertrand retched, appalled at the turn events had taken since he’d arrived.

As the sun rose over the villa, after the rest of the family had been despatched, Bertrand settled in an empty guest room and began carving another notch into his stake, determined not to think about what Iosif had done. He couldn’t afford to forget the lesson he’d learnt today, however, and so once he’d swept the sawdust from his clothes he crept into Iosif’s coffin room – though there was no need to creep in a deserted house – and snatched up the first keepsake he could find, a pocket watch the boy appeared to have barely worn.

Never again would he take a sudden shift in emotions at face value; never again would he allow an unexpected attraction to go unchallenged; never again would he give anyone the opportunity to take control. If Iosif hadn’t picked such an unfortunate choice of words, Bertrand might still be in his thrall even now. From now on, he would only need to glance at his watch to remind himself that emotions could be manipulated; attraction could be fabricated; everything could be lost if he slipped up for a moment.

This could never happen again.


End file.
